The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The aridic smell of burning filth was thankfully being cleared on a strong wind. It was little comfort. Captain Lathe was dragged roughly forward by his two handlers. His tattered armor rubbed harshly on multiple wounds, pain lancing along his ribs causing him to flinch. Darkness enveloped him and the hands soon shoved him roughly down between two other captives. Lathe tried to sit as tall as he could but winced at the pain. Blinking against the sudden dimness he looked about.

“Captain,” a grim voice acknowledged him from his left. A guard master from a gate patrol he’d met before. Lathe didn’t know his name but managed a nod. Though blurry he could see the guard was beaten severely about his face, one eye swollen shut. He must have been pulled into the general fray after the Seven Shores army burst into the Yellow City. The man managed to speak again despite obvious pain, “you think the southerners will execute us?”

No. Captain Lathe didn’t think that at all. These disciplined troops probably had every intention of bribing and turning the captured fighters here. That was his insight from the runners before the assault. Massive turn-coating and attrition in countryside. He didn’t know the method. Conscription. Threats. Bribes. He suspected all three given the size of the force that assaulted them and the knowledge of the Hillkin’s defenses and tactics. This was simply not the same force that landed at Mir Milye.

“Strengthen your resolve, soldier. The enemy certainly has. Be ready for whatever the Heaven Sent deliver upon us.” The wounded guard inhaled and then tightened his face and nodded. Captain Lathe looked around squinting, eyes adjusting to the odd light. He was in some kind of large tent, not hide, some finer crafted fabric of strength. An eerie blue fire burned in the center of a crescent of prisoners. Strange practice this. With difficulty he pulled a slip of cut armor from a gash in his side. It hurt like fire and brought tears to his eyes. The wound bled more freely, but he breathed a bit easier. Lathe observed a good collection of valuable prisoners.

At least six sergeants of various companies sat bound. Talc was present, his friend and quartermaster of the rally army. The man gave him a grim nod. Two married high born that were attached to the rally, Saela and Ranath, he believed. They looked ready to piss themselves. A few hardened veterans. The lithe man he believed was a prominent whisperer of secrets. What was his name, Mesk? Mersc? The dark haired man met his eyes and simple returned a knowing gaze. This was bad, both men knew it. An honor guard was to his right, an elite fighter devoted to the now dead patriarch. Blood was spattered on her armor, but she appeared capable. “Honored sword?” he ventured.

She inclined her head. A large bruise to the temple became obvious. She acknowledged his look and then lowered her head as if shamed. “Fuck disgrace at the moment, soldier. If you wish to die with honor your attempt may come soon.”

The words caused her to look up and give a curt nod, shame turning to rage. Good. Steel resolve and vengeance was likely all that was left to them. It was tragic they were in this mess to begin with. He’d tried to warn his commanders of the impending threat, even begged negotiation at Roaring Bridge. But no, the elders and the Patriarch would never yield to a perceived insult of trespass. Their stubborn pride would have caused a war even if they hadn’t seen the Seven Shores swell with recruits from every land conquered in their relentless push east.

Lathe cleared his throat, “They will seek to turn you to their cause.” Many looked up, one veteran weakly saluted. “Do not be fooled. Do not become that which trampled us. Remain strong. Remember your homelands, your peoples.” There were several nods, another salute. The tenders behind them ignored it all. The high born merely stared blankly at him. Fuckers. Their ilk was the reason they were here. Pulling back from the outer farms without evacuating the folk! It was heartlessly cruel and turned out to be useless anyway.

Without fanfare a Shores lieutenant entered the tent. Her armor was covered with grit, but otherwise in resplendent repair. Lathe couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship of the officer garb. In fact the Shores kit itself was enviable. These peoples were far beyond the Hillkin in their crafts, it was clear. As she removed her gauntlets a wave of disciples entered behind her. Ah, so it will begin with the honey.

The Hillkin captain watched as the white robed men and women began tending to the wounds of the captives. Soft hands embraced grievous injury and the disciples winced in barely controlled agony. After a brief flaring of cold and light, the disciple was fatigued and the wound mended. Only blood remained. Washing towels were applied and skin was cleaned. The attendants then took over and the captives were stripped nude. Humiliation then? Lathe watched as his comrades were stood naked, wrists bound behind their back and fastened by rope to a stake in the floor. What in Heaven Sent was this? His stomach turned.

The lieutenant removed her helmet revealing a stern but fine boned face and extremely short cropped hair. Military to her core, but what was shocking was that she was clearly Hillkin. Lathe sucked in his breath and many soldiers did the same. Another traitor. She regarded him coolly as the disciples reached him and the honor guard. He didn’t resist as he was stripped. No sense in hurting disciples, their only tenant was the health of others, they had no other creed. The healing left him weaker and sapped what little reserves he had left, but the pain in his side was gone and soft chill in his chest. He staved off the shake in his knees and gave as attentive a posture as he could, facing the inevitable torture to come. The woman lieutenant smiled at him and winked.

He snarled but quickly became flustered when the woman began disrobing herself. Attendants assisted and piece by piece her magnificent armor and padding were removed. Soon she was as stark naked as the rest of the stunned captives. She was clearly younger than Lathe’s forty-one turns, but not by much. The lieutenant possessed a supremely toned and heavily scared body; her extensive tribal tattoos had been enhanced and overlaid with foreign symbols. Small breasts with surprising perk accentuated her athletic build. And she was… shorn? Bizarrely there was not a hair on her below her neck. Just like a babe. Lathe found it difficult not to admire her taunt figure and obvious prowess even as he was simultaneously disgusted with her presence. With a wave she directed all but a handful of now nude attendants out. Her voice was surprisingly pleasant and didn’t match her severe demeanor “I remember being where you are…”

“And look at you now,” Captain Lathe growled, “a traitor to your own people, your own heritage.”

She gave him a savage grin and walked crisply in front of him, careful of her distance, just out of reach. “Indeed, and what a kin it was! Ignorance. Barbarity. Endless clan warfare. Strife. Hunger.” She gestured around her, “in time you will see the coming Empire as I was shown. They bring order, prosperity… peace.”

Lathe laughed, “The Peace of Slaughter, it is ever the way.”

“No, not slaughter.” She gestured towards him, “the Seven Shores do not burn and salt the fields of their foes. They do not invite the wholesale butchery of the foeman village.” She straightened and stood at attention, “we abide a higher law, as you will see. I look forward to hearing your insights when you are—“

“I know not what demented torture you have planned, bitch, but I assure you, you’ll not have my service nor that of any other honorable soul here.”

Before she could respond the heat intensified throughout the tent, despite the flap opening to the cold beyond. In walked an apparition. Lathe’s heart beat faster while his blood ran cold. Some sort of witch girl emerged from the entrance and then through the blue fire. He’d only seen the creature and her ilk at a distance in battle as they commanded the soil and sky to do impossible things. Always strategically crippling was their magic.

The witch calmly took a stance next to the lieutenant, her motions somewhere between a dance and an erotic display. She was nude, possessing the figure of woman but with the stature of a girl. Long black hair reached her feet, a mix of wild streaks and braids that seemed to move constantly in unseen winds. Her skin was gray or maybe blue? If shifted in color looking almost like crumpled parchment or perhaps dried mud. In the center of an angelic face, blackened in soot with designs and arcane glyphs, blazed two brilliant blue eyes radiating with eerie power. She was unearthly, horrifying and desperately beautiful at the same time.

The apparition dropped a handful of herbs into the fire that blazed away to ash in seconds. A sweet smell similar to lavender reached his nose. Drugs then, perhaps. Holding his breath would be useless, but at least all would be affected. The witch’s voice was sonorous and musical. She advised the Shores lieutenant in some strange tongue. An odd calm fell over the tent. Shit.

The Shores woman straightened and approached to address the semicircle. “I am Lieutenant Scarlet Mare, formerly of the Hillkin clan of Dreaming Rock. I now serve the magnificent Empress of the Seas in the glorious Seven Shores 3rd Army. Our path of conquest brings peace, law, and life.”

The witch sat cross-legged now, her hands dancing in a constant motion of dizzying patterns in her lap. She was issuing a low series of beautiful chants as the lavender scent intensified. Lathe had an inkling of lightheadedness. He bit his tongue to alert himself and focused on staying firm. None of the others seemed out of sorts yet. Perhaps this wasn’t a drug but a spell. He returned his attention to the preaching Scarlet who had continued on about the virtues of her new masters and their coming new allegiance.

“—and so shall you all. The 3rd Army has the great fortune to be ruled by the Chains of Riven Lust. You are fortunate as well, for of all the ways to assimilate to her glorious grace, I trust this is the most pleasant. Some are shown the sting, some the honey, as they saying goes.”

Lathe saw some looks of confusion in his comrades, but mostly disgust. Good. This tactic, whatever it was, would soon fail. Torture would surely follow, but it was always an inner victory to spurn the enemy’s first plan. To stand… defiant. To will it.

Nude attendants male and female emerged into the eerie light, now covered in scented oils. They no doubt had been selected for their features and Lathe admitted the seemly lass in front of him was built for rutting. Their expressions were sensuous and inviting, but in no way smirking or callous. This whole event was beginning to make him nervous. Something very different was at work here. Something he had never known or heard of before.

The witch’s chanting was still soft but it felt louder, the room hotter. Sweat trickled down Captain Lathe’s brow. For the first time he tested his bonds. Tight, no give. Scarlet suddenly cupped her breasts and closed her eyes. Sweat had begun rolling down her body now as well. “Feel the heat, candidates. Let it fill you with desire’s fire!” Her hands roamed freely and it wasn’t long before they found her mound and sex. Several captives watched transfixed as the lieutenant sensually swayed and rubbed herself. More were appalled and showed horror, but didn’t turn away either.

With a quick movement she thrust her hips forward, eyes wide. Her now fiery gaze seemed to pin and paralyze the captives as she looked at each in turn. “Look upon my cunt!” Shock pervaded the room. Shock and perverted interest.

“Do it, you will find it hard not to. Gaze at it…” she spun in a slow circle. Lathe did look before deliberately turning his eyes. He caught only a few seconds of the soft pink flesh. Glancing around he saw most of his other fellows openly stared. He opened his mouth to remind them of resistance but the witch’s chanting suddenly seemed even louder in his ears. He cringed. An icy chill seemed to be burning in his head. He looked to the creature only to see her gazing directly at him. In to him. Fuck her. He glared back until she looked to another.

“Good,” cooed Scarlet. “See my pussy. My cunt. It fills your vision. It’s all you see. Pussy. Cunt. See it. Watch it drip.” And drip it did as she slowly used her fingers again, walking closer and closer to the captive ring in extending circles. Lathe closed his eyes. It took an effort of will. The chanting seemed to scream at him to watch, but he kept his eyes shut and tried to mouth resistance. Trying to fight the whispering noise and buzzing in his head. Trying to fight the icy burning. He caught only handfuls of the vixen’s speech.

“good girl… good boy…”

“watch as the cock goes in…”

“in and out…”

“fucking… dripping… filling…”

“no thinking now… yearning… feeling… falling…”

“freedom awaits… solace… yes… just my cunt… my beautiful cunt…”

“in and out… goooood…”

He blinked. A large servant had lifted the woman lieutenant onto his own manhood and was slowly entering her. She was propped up in a forward sitting position on display so that all could see her shaven cunt being penetrated. Somehow, even being held up by the large servant she seemed dominant, in control, and commanding, like the servant was more her throne or a piece of furniture than her lover. The scents in the air were now a mix of lavender and sex. It was strong and stuck in his nose and throat. Lathe squinted and blinked in brief cycles to keep his bearings, head swimming.

“Pussy, dick, cock, or cunt. Fill your mind with the one you have. Fill it. Only pussy or dick. Cock or cunt. Think only with your sex. Only your sex. Cock or cunt.” Scarlet mouthed it over and over.

The heat and whispering was almost unbearable, but Lathe finally managed the resolve to speak, “Fight this!” His words were like ice. Shivers went through him and he felt stronger, by mere bits, but it was there. “Do not give in to this harlot! She would damn you with whatever lustful magic poisoned her mind!” He opened his eyes.

Scarlet looked at him, now standing, laughter in her eyes. How much time had passed? She swiftly set her attention on the high born instead. The witch was looking directly at Lathe again and her words began a torturous buzz in his mind once more. He yelled in fury and tried not to fall to his knees as the assault whirled in an unseen storm about his brain. The pressure was like diving in a deep crushing pool.

The lieutenant, still rubbing herself, stood in front of the high born. She gestured erotically with her free hand to each in turn, “You think with your cock,”

“Yes,” the man fell to his knees.

“You think with your cunt,”

“Yes… Please!” the woman collapsed shaking.

A swift motion from Scarlet and the sound of a knife cutting rope was heard. The high borns’ hands free, each began to pleasure themselves. Ranath gripped his shaft and almost violently stroked, his eyes never leaving the lieutenant’s sex. Saela tried to use both hands at once on her own cunt but was clearly inexperienced. She mewled helplessly, rubbing, jabbing, eyes just as fixed as her husband’s. Scarlet flashed Lathe a smile though he hardly saw it. The witch’s gaze and whispers still shouting with a silent howl.

“You think with your cock, you think with your cunt,” Scarlet tapped each on the head.

“Yes,” they mouthed in unison.

“All your thoughts, your will… In your cunt! In your cock!”

“Yes!” they begged.

Scarlet stepped between them and placed one hand on either of their foreheads. Sweat poured from their bodies, their frantic masturbation made them shake as they strained their heads backward to look upon Scarlet. “Give us yourselves. Surrender your desires. Cum your will out! Cum now!” Ranath’s spurt reached several feet and painted the hard packed earth as a low moan tore free from his open mouth. He instantly collapsed backwards twitching. Saela was crying her hands moving rapidly, her only sounds desperate grunts.

Scarlet expertly crouched around her and whispered into her ear, one hand still on her forehead, another diving to the high born’s clit. All but her final whispered word was lost in the noise, “Now.” Saela’s eyes rolled back in her head as her juices flooded her and her captor’s hand. Scarlet laid her convulsing body back gently into the arms of the attendants. The nude servants crowded in threes and fours around both the stunned high born. Lips whispered rapidly in their ears, hands crawled sensually over their helpless forms. One mouth began to suck upon Ranath’s now flaccid cock, another feasted on Saela’s sex. The two twitched and moaned softly as the ministrations and secret whispers continued.

The remaining captives watched in spellbound shock.

“Join us, candidates. Let the Riven Chains claim you! Free you! Join us and usher peace into your soul and those of your countrymen!”

Through gritted teeth, Lathe watched many of the sergeants and veterans fall to their knees. As bonds were cut they gripped their cocks, firmly stroking while transfixed by Scarlet’s erotic whirlwind. Another veteran moaned loudly, plunging her fingers deep in herself as she squatted. One by one, Scarlet approached each and gently gripped their heads. Orgasms and powerful releases followed and the spent captives were turned over to the attendants for more whispers and consuming pleasure. Those the attendants were finished with lay catatonic, wet cocks limp and dripping cunts spread and spent beyond reason.

“Don’t… succumb… to this… madness,” Lathe growled as long as he could. The guard master to his side had given in and surrendered to the pleasure of the attendants. The seemly servant now sucked upon his cock as another kissed and whispered to him while tightly straddling his chest. To Lathe’s right, he noticed tears were rolling down the honor guard’s face. With strain he turned his head to her, “Fight! They cannot take your mind if you fight! Embrace the pain and rage!”

“Oh, Captain,” Scarlet’s voice surprised him as she glided by, her hand brushing his traitorously erect cock briefly. He made to head-butt her but his addled reflexes were horriblely clumsy and he only succeeded his stumbling to his knees. The Shores lieutenant’s tattoos now glowed, her body hummed with the power of this foul ritual, “we don’t take minds. We give them back. We break the harsh rules and offer more reasonable ones. The stronger ideals will help you.” She never seemed to stop moving, both hands always on to the next task. One slipped effortlessly into the honor guard’s slick folds. Another tweaked the woman’s nipple.

“I… hate… you… I… hate… you…” the honor guard was managing in ragged gasps.

Scarlet simply leaned in and savagely kissed her. The woman’s shocked eyes went wide as both her lips were penetrated by the lieutenant. The pace and technique of the fingers in her cunt rapidly changed. The tears became a sob as Scarlet withdrew the kiss, their tongues still dancing. The lieutenant’s face was bizarrely tender, “so repressed, so desperate, please… let it happen…” She cupped the woman’s face.

“So hard… please… I-I, c-can’t…” the honor guard whimpered.

“You can,” cooed Scarlet.

Scarlet reached deep inside and crushed her body against the guard’s, faces nose to nose, one hand holding her head backwards. The traitorous warrior’s fine muscles flexed and tightened as she held her victim crushingly close. Lathe watched as the honor guard’s speech collapsed into one desperate whine, “no… no… h-heaven s- n-no… y-yes… n… ye… fu… fuck… can’t… oh… sent… yes… yes… yes…” It was the most powerful orgasm he had ever seen in his life. Her shocked face quickly transformed to pure ecstasy as her eyes glazed and body shook violently. Only the lieutenant’s iron grasp kept her from thrashing violently. Her juices exploded beneath her in a torrent and her frantic eyes slowly closed. A look of profound relief and peace overtook her features as Scarlet began lowering her to the soaked earth.

Captain Lathe closed his eyes. Not tightly, he simply could not bear to see his former comrades taken. He felt the pull of it. His cock was painfully hard. It wanted release. But it was nothing to the horror of this forced surrender. He tried to shut out the world, instead focused on yelling back internally at the witch’s whispering screams. Bits and pieces of broken wills and ecstatic cries drifted in to his awareness. More than once, hands and mouths tried his member, his chest, his lips. All expert, all skilled. His body was tempted in every way he could have wished. The pleasure was real, but still the pain in his head prevailed. He rebuffed them all, his skin becoming cold.

Drifting, he instead drew on memories of the battle that day. The fighting had been fierce, the attackers took a direct yet efficient approach. Seven Shores had sacrificed some of their front line to gain a small momentary advantage in the fortifications and then just overran everyone. Subterfuge compromised two of the actual wall gates. The push was brutal, but demoralizing for its numbers. By the time the shock troopers entered the city, Lathe’s companies had already been routed. They should have all fought within the walls, no deployment. Another stupid error. Another lost argument for pride.

There had been no massacre in the streets though. Once a unit stood down, they were disarmed and put to prisoner camps. Orderly these, Shoresmen. The raw training and discipline was incredible he admitted, and perhaps that is was hurt most of all. The Hillkin were inferior in nearly all respects to these invaders. Lathe’s will to resist was the last bit he could use to show his prowess, even if it was only personal.

He was so lost in the memory of the conflict that he almost didn’t notice the witch’s screaming in his head had subsided some time ago. The silence echoed strangely, leaving an almost empty sensation in its absence. The tent was mostly quiet now. A few sounds of moist mouths and hands at work in the shadows, but even those were drifting off. How much time had passed? An hour? Two? Again, impossible to guess. So quiet now it was unsettling.

“You can open your eyes, Captain. It will not affect the outcome either way. My word,” Scarlet’s voice was conversational and empathetic. The demanding and lustful force was gone.

“Your word…” he laughed, coughing. Lathe cracked his eyes and looked about. The blue flame was now a more conventional red and orange. All but two of his fellows lay prostrate and spent, eyes closed or held open in a silent ecstasy. A scarred veteran was being held aloft by two large servants, while another servant’s face was buried in her groin, licking and sucking. He could vaguely make out a bull of a servant behind her, slowly thrusting his hips forward, impaling her almost gently. The veteran’s brow was squinting hard but her eyes were vacant staring at nothing, her mouth agape.

“It won’t be long for her. Her will is strong, but she has seen the wisdom inside. It will be gentle for her, a contrast to the violence she commands in battle,” Scarlet was standing near him, he could feel her hand on his member but it was unmoving. He weakly looked across the tent.

The witch had broken her chanting vigil. She now stood next to Quartermaster Talc. Strong servants held him firm and a number of young beauties kept his member erect with gentle stroking. His face was a mix of grief and exhaustion. A young servant approached and twirled in front of Talc. He murmured in horror, “no… not her… not my daughter…”

Lathe squinted. That indeed wasn’t his daughter, just a shapely young servant. “What is this?” he asked.

Scarlet wrapped and arm around his waist letting her hold on his dick drop. Her voice was again conversational. “My’nora can see dreams and fantasies. Sometimes she uses them to help one realize new truths.”

“No! Not—“ Talc’s protests transformed into a moan as the girl was guided onto his shaft by the other attendants. The girl smoothly rode him, backing herself up until he was buried in her completely. She sighed and wiggled.

The girl then cupped her breasts and with expert balance rocked rhythmically backward. She cooed, “Yes, father. Fuck me, please.” The witch observed, her hands dancing in that strange hypnotic way. Magic.

It took only moments, a handful of deep skewers into his perceived perversion, before the crying quartermaster moaned. They released his arms and he instantly gripped her rear, driving her into the ground. The witch gently held his head as he pounded his false daughter. “Yes! Father! I’m there! I’m—“ she squealed. Talc shook and came into her roughly. It was a desperate affair. Lathe’s friend was carried backwards into the shadows, his face a mask of awe now as the twisted need faded. The female veteran had vanished as well. He was alone.

“Don’t mourn them,” said Scarlet still entwined with this waist, “they are being given a solace in the future. Fuck, it’s so much better without all this shame surrounding fucking. I wish I could yell at you how much better it is. It is!”

He didn’t respond. He was alone.

“You’ve now lasted longer than I did,” Scarlet complimented. “That’s impressive. She said you’d be different but I didn’t believe her.” The witch approached languorously, her stride a thing of erotic nightmare. She spoke a word to Scarlet whom replied, “Certainly.” Without another thought, the Shores lieutenant knelt and took Lathe in her mouth. He moaned against his wishes. For the first time he noticed he was unstaked and now held fast by four burly attendants. It probably only would have taken one at this point. And suddenly the witch was before him, head cocked, studying. Something so familiar in her look. So familiar.

Scarlet was a good match for his cock. Perhaps it was his admiration for her prowess? But the mouth on his cock was expert, alternating delicate and rough. It was just to his taste. He didn’t look down but he felt her hands and mouth forcing his balls to fill. Quick. Funny, he’d go down to a soldier after all it seemed. He groaned as she masterfully coaxed his cum upward. He couldn’t fight this. He knew it was over. The witch crouched, unsmiling, burning eyes intense. She then frowned, upset, seemed almost disappointed.

No. No, he needed not her approval or scorn. Fuck her. He needed none of this. Deep in his spine he felt the same buring ice and cold water seep into his body. He shivered and without realizing it his cock wilted. Frowning Scarlet popped the semi-flaccid shaft from her lips and kissed it gently to no avail. “Fuck, I had him,” she said confused. The feeling was still pure pleasure, but it was fading as the ice water instead prevailed. She looked to her cohort.

Lathe answered for her, “You’ll have to kill me, it seems. No Chains of Lust for me.” And he smiled. Victory.

The captain expected a knife to the throat, or perhaps a painful belly slash for spurning them. I can die that way. He never feared ending as a soldier. Instead, he saw the horrifying visage of the witch smile. Not a seductive look, one of pure hunger. Strong arms constricted his neck. He kicked, tried to break the grip. Useless. His vision dimmed, the last of it consumed by the witch’s burning blue eyes.

He awoke with a start, neck sore. Blinking he saw another tent, a military officer’s by the look. Good canvas, comfortable bedroll and extra fur blankets. Well furnished. Expensive. He tried to lift a hand to his wavering head and found it sluggish, heavy. Drugged. He could see well, no visual impairment, but his body was like a rag doll. He doubted he could lift a book, let alone stand. A single guard stood watch inside dressed in polished armor and the accoutrements of the Seven Shores elite.

“Wh—“ he spat. His mouth was wet, his saliva prolific. “What’s going on?” he managed in a weak voice.

“Please, do not try to stand, sir,” the guard said evenly.

“Sir? I’ve not submitted to your cause, solider. I’m not your sir.”

The elite stood straighter and inclined his head, “Your measure is to be respected, sir.”

My measure? A captain’s rank? Or did he mean because he resisted that demon spawned orgy? He wanted to ask but his body was already tired. Lathe instead settled into the bedroll he’d been placed on. More comfortable than his own. He didn’t ache. It was more a sense of detachment, helplessness. He didn’t care for it.

Long moments stretched.

He sat up, or rather slumped up, when he heard the flap opening. The elite bowed deeply as the witch, My’nora, entered. She regarded him a scant second and then offered a brief command to the guard. The elite left them alone bowing deeply again. Eerie silence settled on the tent. To his shame he flinched when she approached.

With sudden quickness the witch’s odd skin seemed to burn off in a strange unseen fire. The flakes vanished leaving an ivory skin dotted with a few pocks and freckles. Her dark hair became a touch shorter, her eyes dimmed to a steely grey. She was still nude, and beautiful in a more human and plain way. Lathe’s breath caught. The resemblance. No. Another trick?

She gave a short laugh, her voice still sonorous and in perfect Hillkin, “so, a happy coincidence indeed.”

“You beguile me! You steal…” he couldn’t finish.

“I steal nothing, Captain. Do my hands move? Do you feel out of yourself? You see me as I am. No need for guises and sorcery here. I wish only to talk.” She sat in the chair facing him and was silent once more.

He was quiet in turn for a good few minutes. Her gaze was still intimidating even without the unearthly glow but he met it. He locked his eyes with hers. He’d survived their magic that twisted his comrades. He could survive the bribes to come.

“Magic did not claim your comrades, Captain,“ she said suddenly.

His eyes narrowed, “you can read my thoughts.”

She looked at bit bemused, “No.” Her smile was warm with mischief. It hurt. “But I can get a feeling for what others’ thoughts might be. I’ve long experience with this. But you,” she tapped her lip “you are what I have been waiting for in this advance. Perhaps longer…”

“Me? Because you couldn’t rape my body and mind?” he struggled to sit straighter and failed.

My’nora gently reached down and helped him to sit up more comfortably. He maintained his sour expression as she returned to her seat. “The Chains simply provide a pathway for release and reflection. In them I can convey a world of thought and concept that would take hours, days, months, to reach in general discourse, if at all. The empathic and sensual bond allows freedom of ideas and true passions. And in the end, ours are better, and they submit. It is the Way of Will.”

“You steal their will and dominate their minds!” he growled.

“No, Captain. I don’t.” She crossed her arms to cover her ample bosom. “The Riven Chains have no arcane aspect in enchantments or Siren spells. They entice lust as a means, yes, but the revelations are wholly upon one’s own thoughts. I don’t steal will. Sometimes, though, it must be broken for something stronger to be forged. Lieutenant Scarlet is a testament to that. The Way of Will drives all the Shores, but it is a voluntary compulsion, we follow the will, and the will guides.”

“I know little of magic, but your lie is obvious. This is coercion.”

“It is not a lie, Captain.” My’nora sighed and continued, “It isn’t magic at all after a point. It is the Way of Will. But we’ve little in shared subject knowledge of the mystical studies to continue such a discussion in that direction. I do not wish to debate your point with you at such a disadvantage.”

He frowned. Her mastery of the Hills dialects was, confusing. Frankly this courtesy was unnerving. She was eloquent. She outpaced him, like all these Shores folk with their advanced armor, weapons, and now learning. “What do you want?” he said feeling defeated.

“You, of course,” she said with a genuine smile.

He sighed, “Because I resisted your orgy? Some reasoning, witch.”

“Will is the only coin of worth,” she quoted.

“So the saying goes,” he said. “If my will is so strong, it’s availed me not. Will didn’t give me victory. Will didn’t let me save my fellows or stop you from making them submit. Will isn’t everything.”

“Will is the only force that truly matters on Icar, Captain Lathe. Those with greater will command and shape those of the lesser – it is a primal law of reality. You mistake not having will with a failure to use it.”

He managed a tight laugh, “and your people say they are free. The irony.”

She gave him a confused look, “There is no contradiction, Captain.” My’nora lowered herself next to him. Their knees touched. “You have shaped those around you all your life, I can see it. Your command, your nature, all what you are shapes them. This isn’t a malicious force, it is will. Your will. Have those who followed been forced?” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “The Empress commands the strongest will on Icar. We follow and are shaped because it is for the best! She could no longer abide this barbarism in the east. She sees it! She will guide us to peace and prosperity, end petty struggle, bring unity, end shame and hatred—“

“You’ve snuffed all that out back home, eh—“ he sneered.

She looked hurt. “It takes time, Captain. But you would be surprised at our cities. The Shores’ urban enclaves are no longer dominated by poverty and crime. Since we have embraced the Way of Will, murder and misery fall.”

“And if your Empress is of vile heart? Or the next is? What then? Chaos?”

The witch nodded and closed her eyes, “She is not. But the Heavens grant the will to the able so they may shape the lesser for the betterment. In answer to your question, lesser wills of virtue will always band together to destroy tyranny. And if they cannot – they do not deserve to rule.”

He scoffed, “that way lays madness, witch. It justifies anything.” He closed his eyes and settled back. “Consider me the dissenting voice, just a lesser will—unable to challenge you.”

Her voice was suddenly emotionless and even, “your will exceeds mine, Captain. Greatly.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her familiar features. She looked almost concerned. She continued softer, “Ask yourself some simple questions, Captain. How many of your good friends have died to ignorance? How many worthless trader squabbles have ended in families crushed? How many spineless cowards have ruined what your countrymen hold dear?”

He closed his eyes again, this time in honest pain. “I don’t dispute you, My’nora.” He sighed, “Your ways do impress, but they are still war. And it is no better for that. It is simply a different chain, a different leash.”

She held his weakened hands fiercely and her next words were near his ear. “The hand that holds this chain is far better, Nathan. And you yourself can hold most of it.” He started as she moved herself into his bedroll and nuzzled herself into his arms. He resisted but his limbs moved like melted lead. “Your will could be the strongest in this army, in the entire advance. I’ve felt it. She has felt it. Your presence at the ritual was mere testing… confirmation…”

The witch’s warm flesh felt incredible. Her back settled against his chest. Her butt rested on his groin, his flaccid cock softly held in her cheeks. He was too weak now to even move. She arranged him into a comfortable position, taking great care to ensure each limb pleasantly padded and placed. Finally she draped one of his arms over her and made his hand cup her breast weakly. Offhand he felt the pull of magic now where once it was absent.

“Let me help you. I can help you redeem it all, Nathan. You can rise to use that will. Teach them all.” She snuggled and her heat radiated into him in pleasant waves.

“Stop… this…” he managed to murmur.

“Rest, Nathan. Sometimes the break is needed. Needed to grow stronger. I am prepared to make myself the needed sacrifice. Break as well if needed. I do not mourn it, I subject myself the same as I would others. The stronger will must prevail. Now rest…”

His strength was quickly fading. It was getting difficult to even think. Her scent, fresh lavender and something else… spice? familiar as well. Her warmth… Her presence… She fit well against him. Melted into him perfectly.

“Sleep and… d-dream, captain…” she murmured, sleep claiming her as well.

Captain Nathan Lathe lost the struggle for wakefulness and drifted into a deep slumber shortly after her, My’nora, sacred witch of the Seven Shores cuddled in his arms.

His dreams took him back through pain.

Lathe plunged through his past of war in ever changing scenes, like falling through knives. Sometimes he was aware of the dream and others he wasn’t. He watched his boyhood friend Egan impaled at Arg El. He witnesses the clan lords burn down the fields of Mont Fort and start the three year famine. He lived again the painful death of his beloved cousin Yera in a forest fire caused by a foolish battle over pouching. The last left him spinning in a vast void. It was his most painful moment, the one he held deepest in his dungeon of sorrow, locked and buried.

It was pure shock when his tears were wiped away by Yera herself. Sitting in the very same dread forest, not yet burned, brilliant in autumn color. “There is time yet,” she whispered, tenderly holding his face. Her dark hair, stormy eyes, and gentle smile, they washed away the sadness like it had never been.

“Time for what?” he asked confused.

She giggled a musical sound and kissed him, “Everything, love.”

It was winter. He was hand in hand with her, dressed for festival and feast. The cold air was invigorating, and she clung to him for warmth. In truth it was she that warmed him with each tender embrace. Yera was almost never cold. They walked in obvious intimacy through decorated streets and markets. They danced under the feast poles, and shared a shy kiss between market stalls.

She was beautiful. Moonlight seemed to make her dress and wisps of silver marked her steps in the snow. She was a girlish height, but clearly a woman with her enticing figure and curves. He could listen to her laugh forever. Perhaps he already had. Something was magical about this night, as if it was all perfect and yet not…

They drew looks of course. Disapproval. Disgust. Close cousinage was only allowed to the high born and only then to protect a royal line in dire times. It was public shame to carry on as they did. “Fuck them,” he whispered to her, kissing her gently while sheltering her from the wind and world. Snow fell about them like a storybook tale. Snowflakes caught in her hair like stars.

“Fucking them isn’t what I had in mind…” she said coyly.

Yera was in his arms. A raging fire warmed a great room. Lush carpets, fine foods, servants abounded. He was a master of an estate, HIS estate. He was a victorious general, adored by his troops, loved by the commoners. No invaders could touch their lands. His counsel was heeded. His wisdom had earned them this. This luxury he could now enjoy. She was at his side. His confidant. His counsel. His lieutenant.

And the children. Not one of them Heaven cursed. Each unique and strong in their own way. Two girls, and three boys. They played with each other, wrestled, laughed. He told stories and bounced the smallest on his knee. A strong family. Yera, nuzzled his neck. He gazed into the fire… and the wonders before him spun to sparks. That horrible fire. The heat consumed the room. A stolen future… For this was a dream wasn’t it.

“Of course it is,” said Yera, “but that never stopped us…”

Her delicate hands were undoing his belt, his pants, taking his cock out. Her lips locked to his neck, kissed, bit, trailed up to his mouth. The fire vanished, with it the children and home. Everything else. It was just him and her, bound together. He rolled and pinned her under him, his towering body a shelter to her lustful squirming. Her gasp when he slid home made him want to weep with joy. She squeezed and surrendered to him, a loving fit. Nathan and Yera had always been a perfect pair, from the earliest age. He took her gently at first, building up tempo. Savoring her. Needing her.

“Yes, Nathan… Yes!” she moaned.

As he slowly came to he was confused, hot, sweating. The dream and waking world blended and mixed their unique flavors too vividly for long moments. He fucked Yera slow and hard. Kept up the rhythm, it was too good, it had been too long. He persisted for a time after he realized it was My’nora against him, her body a haunting replica of his lost passion. Her moan was so soft, so similar, so good. He could have just lost himself in this fantasy. He knew he could. He even wanted to. But deep within the cold ice he had felt before wanted answers. It screamed to be hear

Still strong and hard inside the witch, he gripped her roughly, yanked her hair back with an endless handful of think cascading curls. He pinned her arms behind her, and crushed her with his weight. He was no longer feeble. In fact he felt as if he’d rested years for this moment. “You. Are. Not. Yera!”

He expected fear or perhaps a cry as her face bore down into the blankets. However, My’nora’s voice was strained only by his weight and not fear. “I do not pretend to be.”

“Liar! Do you think me a fool!” he grunted, pressing hard, his cock pushing now painfully against her womb’s wall.

“No!” she cried in parts pleasure and pain. “My resemblance is coincidence or perhaps providence provided by the Empress’s foresight. I’ve not bewitched you. I swear it!”

“You’ve tried to poison my dreams! Yera and I, we only… a few times…”

The Shores witch finally struggled and managed relieve some pressure, but she still kept panic from her voice. “It is your own making! Nathan, your dreams are your own. We merely opened you to possibility – you forged the path yourself.”

“You spy on my dreams?”

“Yes!” she finally got a deep rapid breath. “Of course! I have for months. Your will is a beacon, Nathan. I look only, I don’t alter. Can’t alter, even.”

That gave him pause. He realized that he had stopped fucking her. The dream was now truly gone. Hard reality was here and now. He quickly shifted and pulled out of the witch. She didn’t resist at all, or cry out. He pinned her small arms down and laid against her, his taut stomach meeting her soft one. He looked her in the eyes. Her so familiar eyes.

“Yera would never have pressed me. Never made me pursue that life!”

“No. Of course not. She was a simple, kind hearted, country woman. She’d no knowledge of great houses or of war. She died in a fire years ago. A fire caused by stupidity. By the very things you despise about your own people.”

His tears dripped upon her face. He could kill her. He knew it as surely as he knew anything. Even though she had his Yera’s eyes, he could do it. His hands gripped her throat. My’nora’s eyes sparkled wetly. It occurred to him she’d tried to work no magic this morning. What in the fuck was going on! “Why do this to me? Why!”

“I am an offering, Nathan. An offering of potential. Not a replacement, a gift of future. You do not need the Riven Chains to break free your passion for solace. You have vengeance, justice, and the promise already within you. I have seen it. Now I believe it. Your will is what matters. It must join our song. You can bend this force to you. The Way of Will allows it. The Empress wants it. The future YOU created in your dreams can be yours—“

Her breath cut off as he pressed, “You. Are. Not. HER!” She closed her eyes in a peaceful repose. Heartbeats passed as her neck bruised. She choked and coughed but tried to remain serene. His rage roared. The ice inside was a razor now. In this moment, anything was possible. Anything.

She coughed, “I know.” Her stormy eyes pleaded with his, “I know. But I can be the dream you had. I can give you children. Be your second. Bring us and your people to greatness. I am your offering. And your will is greater. It is of such strength that you can,” she swallowed and for the first time a tinge of fear, “mold me as you wish. Shape me.” Her hands beat feebly and she kicked a bit weakly out of reflex for air. “I am not her… she is gone… she was only ever a fantasy… but… I could be real… be more…” He looked at her, tears still dripping on her chest. “Such is your will… the only… coin…”

There was a roar about his head now, similar to her previous whispered shouts of the night before. But this was different. His own voice? Logic and reason beat alongside his passions in his mind. It was a bizarre sensation. He felt as if he was truly aware, perhaps for the first time. Something of his sorrow and rage had burned out and now a new feeling reigned. Hope? This was a terrible gamble on the witch’s part. So much so that it could not be a bluff. One did not wager a mystic like her for the likes of him, unless… Unless her words were true.

His will. He could do it, take the Shores’ armies and crush the high born, defeat the clan lords. Install peace his way. He only had to turncoat. That vicious accusation he leveled at others the day before in hot battle. Would he be no better? A vile turncoat bastard, saving his own skin for the sake of…

For the sake of what? His own pride? Shock filled him. I am no better. All was still. His hands loosened about her neck and she gasped in desperate relief. It wasn’t just about Yera. Turning his colors wasn’t even about him. It was about the people. His people. He could do it his way. With an army of this training, these foreign masteries of skill and craft… War was bloody, but this could be reduced to the scale of the clan skirmishes and with less toll on the peasants. He focused on My’nora’s eyes. Somehow she knew. He could see the hope bloom deep within her now. She was deadly smart. The greater battle was won in her favor. He would not die for the high born. Not when he could do greater good by standing against them. Bring the Shores technology, peace and perhaps culture forward. He would need to take measure of the Empress. If her promise was false, he would stand against her himself, and if not – so much the better.

He removed his hands from the witch’s throat and loomed over her, gaze never wavering. His cock was still raging hard with need for her. It couldn’t be elsewise next to a body so like the flame of his life. But she was right. Yera had been only a simple lover. She never would have fulfilled that dream. The problems had been many and in the end she had spurned a life together for fear of shame. Despite their dalliances, it was his own fantasy that burned so hot in the dream, not memory. He placed a ghost on a pedestal. What now?

“I can serve without being your lover. If the pain is insurmountable.” My’nora offered, “Or you can spurn me completely,” she said quietly, “you can lead without me. I can remove myself if you can extend your newfound will to the army at large. But I’ve seen your soul. There is no question of that for me. The Empress was right.”

“Where would you go?” he asked.

“I’d return to my Empress of course. You were my objective and I have already succeeded, I know in my thoughts. You didn’t need the offering, or rather you didn’t need to take it – just see it. Your passion knows your path now,” she said softly.

“What is your desire, witch?” it sounded harsher than he intended.

“It is irrelevant, Nathan. Your influence has already broken through. It did before I even laid with you last night. It has been assaulting me since I entered your dreams. My opinion is no longer untainted for you to use as a balance.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, the strange fire and ice churning within him now. He could, feel her? If that was even the right word or concept. His will… “You said I can shape you… What if my desire was to make you simple like my Yera was.” He pressed against her and her eyes widened, “What if I fucked your mind from you like you did those high born? Forced you to be a ready and willing wife only? What if that was my true will?”

He felt her tremble. Her cunt was still seeping with wetness but terror was now clear in her gray eyes. “I w-would resist, Nathan,” she tried to say firmly. “But I would lose. If your will wants it, you will sunder me…” and she was quiet. Plaintive now.

For a moment he didn’t know what he wanted. The fire and ice within moved at his command. But to what end? He suspected My’nora was capable enough she could become Yera almost completely. It was a, seductive, thought. He entered her suddenly, his cock sliding in effortlessly to the hilt. Shock lit her eyes and they fluttered a bit in pleasure. It was the first he’d seen her truly off balance. He found he enjoyed it. He found he enjoyed her folds much more.

His thrusts were rhythmic, grinding. Her clit sang as he glided across it again and again. Some terror began to fade as her eyes became lidded, her moans soft. “How did it go again?” he asked evenly.

My’nora’s eyes stopped and focused on him confused, “w-what?”

“Think only with your cunt,” he said slamming into her hard.

Terror and then a small orgasm claimed her suddenly. She tried to recover but his words bored into her. “N-nathan… p-please…”

“Only your cunt, witch. Your mind is your cunt. Your cunt is your mind. You know how,” he said fucking her hard and fast now. He felt in total control, virile as never before. His cock split her perfectly, coaxed every moan from her lips. His hands claimed her breasts and pinched her taut nipples between thumb and finger. “Only a cunt. Only a cunt. Only a cunt,” he repeated bearing down with the fire in his head.

She was trembling now, horror and ecstasy playing along her beautiful features. The weight of his new found power obliterated her resistance before it formed. She’d already tamed herself and chained her mind in dreams over the past weeks. The awakening provided no path but surrender. He watched her eyes glazed and go far away. Her lips parted as she murmured, “cunt… cunt… cunt…”

“Yes, only cunt,” he said. Thrust. “Only cunt.” Hard. “Only cunt.” Thrust.

“cunt… cunt… c-cunt… cu… cu… cu…” she drooled freely now as she was fucked. Her petals were red and swollen with passion, her juices flowed in bursts as she came uncontrolled. He wasn’t certain how many times she released, she seemed to just be more or less suspended in pleasure now. He’d never in all his years felt this, fucked like this. A strong animal force deep within him wanted to make her yield completely. Let his member draw the last of her thoughts out through her cunt. Drain every bit of her and forge her into a willing and wet version of his Yera. It was an intoxication all its own. Lathe watched her empty eyes and her wet lips as she begged to be undone. He trembled.

Enough. It was enough. A petty bit of vengeance. A playful bit that might have real consequence if he wasn’t careful. He slowed his thrusts and leaned close. He didn’t want to be alone. Her heart was beating with the pace of charger and her skin hot as iron. “My’nora. Speak to me.” Only soft moans. “Come back to me, My’nora.”

It took a long moment. Her eyes fluttered and rolled a bit, but finally focused upon him as he said her name again. Her expression was a mixture of exhaustion and wonder, and still more than a small tinge of fear. She had never been dominated before, not like this. Her mind was as clay. “I… p-please… no N-nathan…”

“What is your desire?” he repeated his earlier question.

A confused look. He stopped thrusting his cock into her tempting folds. Her focus cleared a scant degree. “I… so hard… t-to… think…” she concentrated. “Not simple… please do not… empty… desire to be yours… made my womb… ready… fertile… ancient rites… mother… I… I wish… to be your d-discripula… your mate… your offering… share your… d-destiny…”

Discripula? A Shores word. Battle something? It didn’t matter. She wished partnership. Her desire was to be his other half, it was clear. She was strong, he was just stronger. A powerful pairing. Epic perhaps. The fire and ice stilled. He pulled her almost limp body onto his lap, his wet cock again easily slipping inside her. She moaned as he embraced her in a hunched hug, whispering in her ear as he lifted her slowly up and down upon him.

“I don’t want you to be her. We’ll grow in time. I already…” he swallowed, “I can’t sort you from her in my mind.” She groaned and shivered, she was almost spent completely. “I’m not going to take your mind.” A near sob escaped her and she tightened her muscles, squeezed him firmly. “You’ve seen my dreams, you know me… I know you are tired… finish with me and we’ll rest.”

My’nora immediately and weakly bit his ear. Her hot breath billowed on his neck. He shivered and lifted her on and off his cock firmer, harder. She had not the strength to move herself upon him but her arms grabbed, nails dug in. Her whisper was musical, “Cum, love. Fill me.” Memories? Maybe. It didn’t matter. His balls tightened.

She whimpered in his ear as her cunt grew tighter. Tighter. Hotter. “yes… give me… give me your child… cum… please… you own me… please.. own m—“

With a final thrust he held her waist down and his manhood exploded inside her. Release shuddered through him and he groaned loudly with wide eyes skyward. My’nora’s teeth bit into his shoulder as she quivered. Her orgasm was sympathetic, but not loud or strong – she’d expended too much already. He relished the feeling, his pulsing cock buried deep in her fiery mound, pumping, twitching… feeling the same orgasmic tempos in her sex. My’nora’s heartbeat against his chest slowed from a cacophony to a murmur. She quivered gentler and gentler as life unfolded unseen deep in her belly. The embrace was timeless and untold moments passed.

He realized later that she was fast asleep, breathing deeply, lips plastered to his skin. When he lifted her head lolled, completely lost to the world, body limp. Nathan quickly cradled My’nora, his feelings settling from the tempest. The dream and sex had done, something… He could have fought it perhaps, but now everything was muddled in his recollections. His losses were muted. His future, brighter, perhaps even happy. He smiled at her sleeping face and felt things he had not experienced in a long time. It was a good thing he decided, this gift of the Empress. This gift from My’nora herself.

With great care he swaddled her exhausted body in the blankets and kissed her gently. He made her head comfortable as she smiled in her sleep. As Nathan stood over her, his cock finally spent and slick with her essence, he inhaled. Lavender, incense, sly spice, and sex. He felt alive, his pulse strong. He felt doubt receding. He felt… The fire and ice were there, waiting.

As if asked to enter, the elite from the previous night ducked into the tent and lowered his gaze. “Sir?” he spoke.

Lathe inclined his head, “I summoned you?”

“I- I’m not sure, sir.”

He nodded, “what am I to you, soldier? What do you see?”

The elite straightened, eyes flicking to the witch and then Lathe. He paused then spoke, “Your measure, sir. It grows. It is… awing.”

Lathe stared at the man with force, “Whom, do you follow, soldier?”

“Sir…?”

“Whom, do you follow, soldier?” louder, firmer.

The elite saluted, “You, sir!”

“Good. Your name?” he saluted back.

“Sergeant Gunthur, sir.”

“Alright, sergeant. Retrieve lieutenant Mare for me, please. We have much to discuss I think.” The man saluted and turned. “Oh, and sergeant. I’ll be needing some clothes and some of that wonderful armor you Shoresmen wear,” he grinned like a boy.

Gunthur saluted, “Yes, sir!”

It was not lost on General Nathan Lathe that all of this might have been a dream. Perhaps he was lost within the Riven Chains themselves. He’d learned a lot about them in the days since changing his colors. My’nora was an excellent and demanding tutor. Their lovemaking and bonding only made their nightly study that much more intense.

He looked at the broken line of reinforcements from Arg El from his command line. Comrades from his battles stood with him. It was a mix of Shores and Hillkin, diverse and honest now. The taking of prisoners had begun. The battle was being hailed as genius maneuvering amongst the Shores commanders. Perhaps, but his ego wasn’t such as to discount his simple knowledge of the opponent’s tactics. Nor his own deceptions. But it had saved lives. And the farm folk were secure, kept well out of the battle by clever positioning and sheltering.

He warmed as My’nora’s arm encircled his waist. Her skin was covered in the blood of the earth, drawing power to sustain her much needed battle magicks. He found the crackling look alluring now, had even had her wearing the fearsome demeanor from time to time. But he also knew what was beneath it. She would be needed tonight amongst the circles. He would care gently for her when she was finished with them, usually tired and needing his embrace. Nathan was fulfilled, for in her both desires were met, the gentle lady and the vicious witch.

The brisk wind was clear of burning smoke. The dusk air was fresh. He breathed. Perhaps it was a dream. Perhaps the Riven Chains were breaking him even now, all this a delusion, as he knelt in the strange tent waiting to have his will milked from his cock by a mind bending witch. Perhaps. But he doubted it. He kissed his witch lightly on the lips and bid her go. Her erotic visage descended before him down the hills of Eir. The swaying vision drew every envious eye. Lathe smiled. Besides, even if it was a dream… What a dream to have…